Half the Story
by GranthamGal
Summary: An AU story about the start of Robert and Cora's marriage; After all, "everyone goes down the aisle with half the story hidden..."
1. A Perfect Day for a Wedding

Cora Levinson stood before the looking glass stock-still and silent as a young maid adjusted the pink roses threaded through the back of her hair. The woman, her new lady's maid, was quite young indeed but was—according to Lady Grantham—exceedingly capable.

And so, catching Lady Grantham's eye in the mirror, she smiled encouragingly and turned gingerly as the maid stepped away. "Does it look alright?" Cora asked, turning so that she might see the back more completely.

Lady Grantham nodded, stepping forward to inspect the intricate work, and gestured for Lady Rosamund to come closer as well. "It looks very fine, my dear, very fine."

"Quite fine," Rosamund added in agreement, smoothing out her dress and yawning, much to her mother's annoyance.

"Rosamund, might you keep your composure until after the wedding?"

Rosamund sighed and flounced back over to the chaise in the corner of the room. "I _am _composed, Mama. I'm simply tired of sitting in this stuffy room; we're certain to be late if you order the maid to fix her hair again." Rosamund rolled her eyes, adding, "not that I mean any offense, Cora," with an after-thought smile.

"None taken, Lady Rosamund," Cora replied, smiling shyly in return. "And, anyway, I think Lady Grantham was right. The flowers look much more understated now," Cora looked once more in the mirror for confirmation, looking hopefully at her soon to be mother-in-law for approval.

"Indeed," Lady Grantham answered, smiling rather brightly. Rosamund fixed her mother with an odd stare, but Cora was far too preoccupied with her newly attached veil and gloves to notice. "Pay no attention to Rosamund, my dear. She may have attended her very own wedding just last year but she does not understand what is entailed when a future Earl and Countess marry."

Cora nodded enthusiastically, her expression breaking into the most brilliant of smiles at Lady Grantham's words. _The future Earl and Countess. _She and Robert. It was all too perfect for words.

Everything was all too perfect for words.

Three months ago when she was invited to tea at Grantham House by Lady Grantham herself, and happened to meet her son, Lord Downton, freshly home and graduated from Cambridge, it had seemed fate. He was charming and kind and had been the one to show her all around London. And his family was terribly welcoming, too. Lady Grantham had made sure that she was at every important ball of the season, and Lady Rosamund had most conveniently invited Robert over to tea so that they might spend a few hours alone together on more than one occasion.

When he had proposed on the lawn of Downton in the middle of a picnic with his parents, nothing in the world could have stopped her from saying yes.

Though if _something _had wanted to stop her, Cora knew exactly what that something would be.

Her mother had been conspicuously absent from the "bridal suite" (as Rosamund jokingly referred to it) all morning. In fact it had been nearly a day since she had last seen her mother at all. Their conversation had not ended on a particularly kind note. But Cora could only shake her head. Her mother simply did not understand how the world worked. Not the way Lady Grantham understood, or the way she and Robert did.

It had been her mother's idea to come to London after all. And for all her teasing about how the royalty would try to "sweep her daughter right away from her," perhaps it was fitting that in but an hour or two she would be the mother of a Viscountess. And even with all her teasing and all her warnings about being careful, Cora had never expected to see her mother as angry as she was when Cora announced her engagement to Robert.

Looking in the mirror now, standing in a confection of lace and tulle beside her almost-family it was easy to push it to the back of her mind, but Cora knew it would be impossible to forget the words that passed between them over a month earlier.

"—_Those people are making a fool of you, Cora; you're allowing them to make a fool of our family." _

"_Mother, you don't know what you're talking about. Robert loves me and wants me to be his wife. You of all people should be happy for me. I'll have a title, a position. Aren't you proud?"_

"_Proud? Cora, my darling, you must not marry him. That boy wants but two things from you and once he claims the first after your wedding, it will be only the second that keeps him from running in the opposite direction—"_

"—_Mother, please, you're being vulgar and terribly unfair. Robert loves m—" _

"_Robert Crawley loves your money, my dear. He may think you pretty and he may not be cruel, but that boy is marrying you for your money. And if you think his family is any better, if you think that woman is any better, then you are not nearly as intelligent as I raised you to be, Cora Levinson." _

"_It's Cora Crawley," she had shouted, storming out of the room. _

Cora could still feel the burn of the tears she'd cried that night licking the back of her throat. But shaking her head and pulling herself back to the present moment, she pushed those awful thoughts as far back as she could possibly manage. Her mother was being impossibly stubborn. Even now, the morning of the wedding, she had elected to sit in the drawing room rather than see her only daughter get ready.

Thankfully Lady Grantham and Robert's sister were so wonderfully supportive. Though Lady Rosamund—_Rosamund, _as she kept reminding herself—was often quiet and seemed to regard her family curiously, she supposed it was just her personality. Robert's parents were endlessly helpful. Lady Grantham had insisted on planning the entire affair so that _"she and her mother would not be burdened."_ And when most of Cora's relatives and friends from home were, rather surprisingly, unable to attend, it had been Lady Grantham who had helpfully offered to invite more of _their_ extended family and London acquaintances so that the numbers would round out.

Just last night Cora had overheard Lord and Lady Grantham inside the library discussing the impending nuptials.

Though she heard just a bit of it, she had caught a glimpse of them looking over some paperwork—wedding details, no doubt—and Lady Grantham talking about how the "bond between the Levinsons and the Crawleys" would be stronger than ever, that "their family would be stronger than ever."

Cora was so pleased she had nearly floated off to bed.

If only her mother could see reason.

If only she could see that everything was too perfect for words.

* * *

Martha Levinson stood in the drawing room of Downton Abbey, staring intently out the window at the grassy plain beyond the glass. It was a beautiful day, a rarity in English summers, and was most certainly weather befitting the wedding day of her only daughter.

She shook her head at the thought, her gaze turning bitter.

It was too late.

The groom had walked down the main staircase and into a waiting carriage but ten minutes before. She had caught a glimpse of his expression, which was far more nervous than seemed appropriate, and he had muttered something to his valet before brushing past her without even noticing.

He was handsome, she'd give him that. Robert Crawley, Viscount Downton stood taller than any American man that had dared to ask Cora for a dance back in New York. His dark hair and light eyes gave him a regal appearance to match his title and the estate he called home was enough to enchant any young woman into believing she loved him.

Martha never counted, though, on her daughter being the one enchanted by Robert Crawley.

It had seemed too perfect, from the moment Cora came home from that first tea at Grantham House and exclaimed that she had met "the most perfect man in all of the world."

It had seemed far too perfect when Cora was suddenly invited to every ball in London and that she was conveniently placed on the arm of Robert Crawley for every important dance, eschewing any other possible match in favor of his company.

And her suspicions had been confirmed, it was indeed far too perfect for anyone's good, when she overheard two women seated adjacent to her at The Criterion talking of how the "Crawleys were in a deep hole…"

Cora, her darling daughter, it seemed, was to be their rope.

The sound of doors closing and footsteps across the upper hall drew Martha from her thoughts and back to the present moment.

It was too late to stop the wedding, no matter how desperately she wanted to. But perhaps, she thought as she approached the door to the main hall and spied her daughter approaching the top of the staircase, perhaps it was not too late to save Cora all the same.

* * *

Violet watched from her perch at the top of the staircase as Martha Levinson traipsed across the main hall and out to one of the carriages without so much as a glance at her daughter. Thankfully Cora did not notice her mother; she was too busy allowing Rosamund to re-adjust the skirt of her gown once more. And it would do no one any good for _that woman _to cause a scene.

She needed Cora looking as perfect as possible at that church. She needed Cora looking ethereal and elegant, the image of nobility, as she walked down the aisle to marry her only son.

She needed to make sure Robert's face was alight with excitement starting the very moment he locked eyes with his bride. Anything less than palpable excitement just would not do.

Cora descended the stairs and greeted Lord Grantham happily before taking her own father's arm. Mr. Levinson was rather quiet, but that was perfect fine; if Violet were honest, she wished all of the Levinsons were as quiet.

She looked on silently as the bride was led from the house, speaking in hushed tones to her father as she, Rosamund, and her own husband regarded them.

"Well, Mama, I suppose your show is about to begin," Rosamund interrupted, narrowing her eyes almost imperceptibly.

"You're in the carriage behind Miss Levinson's," she answered evenly, not removing her gaze from Cora until she heard the door to the carriage close.

Rosamund leveled one last glance at her parents before nodding slightly and trudging out in the direction of the door, never looking back.

Watching her daughter, Violet's attention was only drawn at the sound of her husband chuckling slightly beside her. "You know she has a point, Violet."

"No, I do not know, Patrick." She fixed her husband with a gaze as steely as the one Rosamund had offered them moments before.

He sighed, absently running a hand over his brow. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Not now, anyway. He'll do his duty. I spoke to him this morning and he—"

Violet interrupted, frowning obviously. "Patrick, I told you not to speak to him again. You're only putting ideas in his head that need not be there. Of course Robert will do his duty. I sent him to the church nearly an hour ago. If he feels the need to unburden himself, he may speak to the Vicar before the service. But our son was never one to verbalize his emotions, thankfully."

Patrick hummed noncommittally. "He's a sensitive boy, Violet. You know how this has all weighed on his mind."

Rolling her eyes, Violet took her husband's arm and began leading him toward the door. "He reads too many novels. Everyone goes down the aisle with half the story hidden. Why should Robert and Miss Levinson be any different?"

Patrick shook his head and helped his wife into the carriage. "Well, Violet, thanks to us, they shan't be." He did not seem particularly upset at the notion, though Patrick did sigh once more as he slid in beside his wife. "I should hate to think Robert would be unhappy because of my folly."

"Don't be so terribly remorseful, Patrick, it doesn't suit you. Robert will be fine."

The two rode silently for the rest of the short ride to the church.

When they arrived and stepped out of the carriage, Cora was positioned under a beautifully flowered magnolia tree as a photographer took a picture of her, canonizing the moment into their family history.

"See Patrick?" Violet nodded at Cora as they approached the entrance to the church. "Everything is too perfect for words."

Her husband did not reply.

* * *

Robert stood at the head of the church, pacing nervously.

His cousin had told him several times that he was on the verge of wearing a hole into the floorboards, but he couldn't help his anxious movements. He was about to be married, about to be someone's husband.

But it was more than that.

And it terrified him more than he could say.

As soon as he said those vows there would be no going back. Once he promised himself to her, once he promised to care for her for all eternity, it would be official—he would be a liar.

He hated lying to her.

Robert had never thought himself a bad person. His friends had always teased him for being too soft, too gentle. But now here he was, about to marry a woman who believed that he was in love with her.

He had never said the words. Perhaps that would be his saving grace.

But she had. Repeatedly.

"_I love you, Robert."_

"_My love."_

"_Our life will be so lovely, so full of love." _

Her words rang in his ears, in her soft melodic voice, threatening to make him ill. Had he strung her along? Should he ask her and explain the extent of the situation, he feared her answer would absolutely be yes, followed swiftly by a slap.

He had not intended to deceive Cora. She was so lovely, the physical manifestation of what he imagined the perfect wife to be. But he was not ready to be a husband. Just eighteen, Robert did not think he had it in him to care for himself properly, let alone anyone else.

He had not been home for even a month after finishing at Cambridge when his mother and father explained what his next life steps would be. They had left little room for interpretation or argument. And though he had stormed out, shouting about how he couldn't do it, when his mother instructed him to attend tea two days later, a tea where he was introduced to Miss Cora Levinson, he also found it difficult to find the prospect of her as his wife entirely unpleasant.

And then, suddenly, before he even realized what was happening, the music began to play. And just as he had done at their first ball, Robert stood tall and took a great deep breath, hoping to look confident even though he could feel his hands shaking.

She was a vision in white, gliding down the aisle like a goddess from the stories he had read as a child. Her dark hair and the delicate flowers woven into her locks made her look every inch the beautiful Viscountess she was about to become.

And when she wrapped her hand around his arm, squeezing ever so lightly as they faced the Vicar, Robert was surprised to find that rather than intensify, his fear began to abate.

His hands still shook as he placed the ring, his grandmother's ring, onto her finger, but when he repeated the final words back to her, he found his voice sounded remarkably calm.

"_With this ring I thee wed,_

_with my body I thee worship_

_and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."_

If someone was to ask him how he felt, standing before his family and the church and staring down at the beautiful woman who was nearly his, in that moment, he would have told them the truth—that it felt too perfect for words.

But as Martha Levinson sat in the first pew and looked upon the scene before her, it was all she could do not to scream. So she held tightly to her husband's hand and tried to ignore the way Harold tapped his foot with annoying regularity.

It was a mess. It was a disaster. It was more awful than she could say.

But she would make it better.

As she watched the Vicar pronounce them one, _"now and forever," _she made a silent promise.

She would fix everything.


	2. A Foreign Bed

_A/N: Thank you guys so much for the feedback for Ch. 1. I really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy this as well! This story will be fairly long, but the chapters slightly shorter than my usual ones, so I hope to update more frequently._

* * *

Robert paced back and forth across his dressing room, frowning absently at the rug that kept bunching beneath his feet. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he left Cora at the entrance to her bedroom, promising to "see her soon."

Though he could not quite explain why, he had decided earlier that he would give her at least thirty-two minutes before knocking on the door that separated them. Now it seemed an utterly ridiculous number to have decided on. But since he had no idea what else to do, he decided to abide by his self-imposed purgatory.

So he paced.

The wedding and reception had gone rather well, not that his parents had asked his opinion of the matter. The great hall had been swathed in the most delicate shade of lilac he'd ever seen, and it reminded him of the blooming flowers in the gardens. Though he had been nearly certain Cora mentioned her desire to use cream-colored flowers to decorate, he supposed she had simply changed her mind.

He looked at the clock once more. How on Earth had only three minutes passed?

Robert sat at the edge of his bed, trying not to let his mind wander to what he would be doing very shortly. It was a near impossible task but he thought it would be best to not appear overzealous. Though, overzealous was perhaps an underestimation, as what he was about to do with his wife was all he'd been able to think about for weeks now.

He fiddled with the edge of his nightshirt, playing with a loose thread as he contemplated, not for the first time, that perhaps he should have attempted a practice run, so to speak. His cousin James had offered, after all. They had been in London just weeks earlier when he offered to take him out to "experience the city as a single man before his wedding." He had politely declined. James had needled him endlessly, but by that time he and Cora were engaged. The wedding preparations were almost complete and somehow it seemed terribly wrong to go traipsing about looking for "practice" while his fiancée sat at home reading novels, or whatever else women do in the evenings.

But now, as he sat staring at the clock, anxiety pooled in his stomach and he hoped desperately that he would not make a fool of himself. He did not want her to think she had married a bumbling child. He knew she was too kind to ever say anything of that sort, but it mattered to him what she thought. He knew not why, exactly, but he wanted desperately for her to know that she would be taken care of, that she could feel safe.

Finally, _finally, _after another ten minutes and a quick sip of scotch to steel himself for the coming moments, it was time.

Almost instantly after his soft knock, Cora's voice bid him enter and he let himself into the candle filled room. If he had been more focused on the décor he might have laughed at the sheer number of flickering candles that covered the room; it was far more than necessary, and nearly as bright as the room would have been with a few properly sized oil lamps.

But he was most certainly not focused on counting the number of candles in the room. For, his wife, his brand new wife, was only a few feet away, sitting at her vanity and wearing a delicate silk dressing gown printed with flowers that clung most perfectly to her body.

Cora smiled at him, looking up through lowered lashes, and continued to unfurl the delicate curls that her hair had been trapped in all day. He tried to tear his gaze away from the way they gently unraveled and then bounced against her shoulder, but found himself distracted for a long moment before her voice called back his attention.

"—Robert?"

He smiled again, clasping his hands together before him. "Yes?"

"Would you like to sit?" She nodded to the chaise positioned on the opposite side of the vanity.

Robert nodded. "Alright. Yes, I mean—thank you." He bounded across the room and settled down on the chaise, grinning at her again. When he realized that she was gazing at him curiously, he looked down at the floor, studying the fabric of his bed shoes and attempting to stifle a blush.

"I thought the ceremony was quite lovely," Cora ventured, releasing her last bound lock of hair as she turned away from the mirror to face him.

"Yes, quite lovely," Robert repeated, looking back up. He cleared his throat, realizing that the conversation had lapsed—thanks to him—after a few seconds.

"I—uh." He paused, running a hand through his hair, and then gazed at Cora again. Though he could feel his heart beat faster just from her smile, he felt, in a way, more comfortable sitting close to her. "You look very beautiful," he added, smiling softly.

Cora blushed deeply, the color spreading from her cheeks all the way down to her chest, well, the bit of her chest that the dressing gown left exposed. He could tell she was pleased, though she remained quiet.

"Thank you, my l—"

"—May I kiss you?" Robert stood, just as she began to answer, both cursing himself and thanking the Lord that she'd not been able to finish the sentiment. He knew it made him horrid, more than horrid, really, but he couldn't bear to hear her say it.

Cora was regarding him curiously again.

"You don't need to ask, Robert," she answered quietly, blushing again as she met his gaze.

Robert held out a hand, helping his wife from her chair and found himself blushing as well at her closeness. He could smell her perfume, though it would be a helpless attempt to guess the actual scent, and her fingers ghosted over his palm, making his body tingle from head to toe.

He realized she was waiting for him. And so, tentatively, he leaned down just a bit and pressed his lips to hers, using one hand to brush beneath her chin, tilting her head upward ever so slightly. Settling his hand at the back of her head, Robert leaned back and kissed both her cheeks in turn, and then brushed his lips over Cora's once more, delighting in the soft hum she made in reply.

Taking her into his arms, Robert kissed gently below her ear, murmuring, "I don't want to hurt you," in barely more than a whisper.

Cora only clung more tightly to him, though, and this time used one hand to guide his head back up, gazing deeply into his eyes. "You could never hurt me," she answered, "I love you, and that's all there is to it."

Robert smiled, though he could feels his legs shaking beneath him. He knew precisely what he was supposed to say, but swallowed and replied, "Cora, I promise I shall do everything in my power to always make you happy."

She nodded almost imperceptibly and widened her smile, leaning up to kiss him impetuously. "Well, perhaps we can just start with tonight and then move on to 'always' come morning?"

Robert nodded happily, his youthful excitement freshly reinstated at the sound of Cora's mischievous tone. And so forgetting the worries that had caused him such trepidation only moments earlier, Robert swooped Cora up into his arms and carried her to the bed so that he might make her well and truly his wife.

* * *

Patrick Crawley chuckled as he watched his wife fiddle with the buttons of her nightdress. He stood in the doorway that connected their rooms, nearly dead on his feet but still somehow awake. "—Violet," he continued, "we should count ourselves lucky that this wing of the hallway is actually quiet and get to bed whilst we can."

Violet frowned and looked blankly at him for a moment before furrowing her brow in disapproval. "Don't be so vulgar, Patrick. And I am off to bed, thank you very much."

Her husband rolled his eyes and stepped into her room, walking over to her bed to kiss her cheek. "Well, goodnight then, my dear. The day was very well done."

"Thank you," she replied, smiling.

"All the guests complimented the exquisite decoration, Violet. You really outdid yourself." He chuckled once more. "But what did you end up doing with all those cream-colored flowers that the gardeners tried to bring in?"

Violet rolled her eyes and settled back against her pillow. "I told him to gather them up and bring them down to the church tomorrow for the altar."

"Of course you did," Patrick smirked and kissed her cheek once more before starting back across the room.

"Don't stir, Patrick—" Violet called after him.

He waved his hand in mock-defeat and continued to his room, smiling over his shoulder at his wife before closing the door.

* * *

The next morning brought a sunny day that nearly rivaled the perfect weather of the day before. The cloudless sky allowed for the entire property to shimmer, the flowers and trees looking especially verdant under the warm reach of the sun.

Cora stood in the window of her new bedroom, admiring the property. It was quite beautiful. She could still remember exactly how it looked months earlier when Robert first showed her around the estate. It had been a cloudy day, with raindrops intermittently interrupting their excursion. He promised, though, that the estate was beautiful in any weather. She could still hear his voice, alight with mirth, saying, _"I know you'll grow to love it as I do,"_ as he took her into the rose gardens.

He had kissed her in the middle of the gardens, and that was when she had known that her heart well and truly belonged to Robert.

It was why she wanted those very same flowers, the beautiful peach roses, at the wedding. When she'd asked Lady Grantham about the changes, however, she was met with a vague reply that suggested the flowers had not been appropriate.

Looking down at the gardens from her window now, though, she could not think of anything that would have looked lovelier.

But it did not matter. She supposed it was a trifling thing to worry over. And so, drawing her curtains a bit, Cora removed herself from the window perch and wandered to the opposite side of the room where her book laid waiting.

Rosamund, meanwhile, wandered down the corridor in search of her new sister-in-law. It was nearly time for luncheon, and Cora had not made an appearance downstairs yet. She smirked at the memory of her own post-wedding morning, nearly a year earlier, but still thought it odd that Cora had not surfaced. Her mama would undoubtedly have something to say about it.

Reaching the end of the hall, Rosamund knocked twice, surprised to hear Cora's voice only seconds later.

"Cora?" She peeked around the door, only to find her new sister-in-law sitting on the chaise in the corner of the room with a novel.

"Oh, hello, Rosamund."

Rosamund smiled kindly and entered, closing the door behind her. "I don't mean to intrude. I was simply concerned when I noticed that you were not up and about, but I see that you are already dressed for the day. I saw your mother in the library, but she didn't seem to know if you were awake."

Cora frowned. "I've been up for hours. And, I didn't want to see my mother."

"Oh," Rosamund paused, attempting to maintain her bright smile. "Well, are you feeling alright?" She cocked her head slightly, taking in the even, almost blank, expression Cora wore. She was not particularly good at chatter, and she did not know Cora all that well, but she _was_ family now.

"I went down for breakfast this morning," Cora began. "Lady Grantham told me it would be more appropriate for me to return upstairs and breakfast here."

Rosamund frowned. She knew her mother's reassuring, overly helpful attitude certainly could not last forever, but she did not think she would snap back to herself so quickly after the wedding.

"Well, you know Mama," Rosamund smiled, silently noting the irony of her words. She walked over to the window to take in the scene and drew the curtains open. It was a beautiful day, after all, and wouldn't do to hide it. "Oh, look—there's Robert." She pointed out the window as her brother—perched atop his horse—galloped across the lawn in the direction of the woods.

Cora looked up and smiled, but said nothing.

"I suppose he's gone off riding," Rosamund said.

"Mmm." Cora hummed in agreement and turned the page of her book. She folded the corner of the page and closed the novel. "He was gone by the time I woke up," she amended, quietly.

Rosamund only nodded. "Yes, well. He usually wakes early. But, Cora—you needn't stay in your room all day. After breakfast Mama and I usually sit in the drawing room. You would be very welcome to join us."

A hopeful glimmer shone in Cora's eyes. "I wouldn't be intruding? It—it would just be for today. We're leaving on the early train tomorrow, you know."

"Yes, quite sure," Rosamund replied, holding out her hand. Cora took it happily and allowed herself to be led out of the room.

* * *

Robert bounded in from the stables with mud flecked across his clothes. His hair was a wild mop of curls and he was still slightly out of breath. He felt quite invigorated after a good long ride. In fact, though, he had felt rather invigorated all day. He grinned to himself, needing little more than a second or two to consider what might be the cause of his good mood, and then wondered—as he left his hat and gloves with the nearest footman—if it would be appropriate to seek out his wife before the dressing gong.

He supposed that would not be entirely appropriate. But it had been _hours _since he'd left her asleep. He'd wanted to wake her then and there for…well, for what it was not appropriate for them to do. But, she looked rather peaceful, and he thought it would be ungentlemanly to wake her just to satisfy his own needs and desires.

He hadn't actually expected to sleep so well in a foreign bed. And, well, he'd thought it slightly odd when she requested he stay with her. But it did not seem too terribly large a request and her bed was bigger than his, so it was bound to be more comfortable. Perhaps she would let him stay again tonight.

One could only hope.

Robert wandered toward the main staircase and caught a glimpse of his new mother-in-law headed toward the library with several papers in hand. He called out her name, which nearly caused her to jump off the ground in surprise, but she only waved at him briefly before continuing along her way with the oddest expression.

Robert frowned. He supposed Americans were just different.

He had decided upon a hot bath and then perhaps a small mission to covertly seek out his wife for afternoon tea by the time he'd reached the top of the staircase.

His plans, however, were most unfortunately interrupted when he quite literally ran into his father just as he rounded the corner to his bedroom.

"Papa—" Robert exclaimed in contrition, kneeling down to retrieve the papers he had accidentally caused his father to drop.

"In a hurry, son?" His father kneeled down as well, attempting to remove the paperwork from his hands.

Robert was about to smile, but something in his father's countenance gave him pause. Looking down at a few of the documents he'd managed to keep hold of, he furrowed his brow as words jumped up from the first few lines.

"Papa, what is all this?"

His father cleared his throat and straightened his back, as he always did when he was about to discipline either he or Rosamund. "Legal paperwork, Robert."

He looked down, reading further along the page. "Papa, is this about Cora's dowry?"

"Yes," his father replied simply.

Robert suddenly felt a great unease in the pit of his stomach, and looked down the corridor to make sure he and his father were alone. "Papa, where are you going with all these? You told me we would sort it all out when we returned from the honeymoon."

His father looked down, ever so briefly, and then exhaled sharply. "Robert, you are an adult and I will not lie to you. It cannot wait until after you return. Mr. Levinson and I are going to complete the paperwork this afternoon before he and his wife and son take the train to London tomorrow."

"And you don't think I should have been consulted? You don't think Cora should have been? Papa—it is her money."

"Not anymore, Robert. As of this morning—well, last night, I suppose—your marriage was consummated and so, really, the money is now yours. Because I preside over the title and estate, however, it will go directly into a trust that shall benefit the estate. You know this, Robert."

"Yes, Papa, I know all this but I would feel better if Cora at least knew about the change of plans and I really think—"

"—Robert." His father beckoned him into the closest guest bedroom before closing the door.

"Yes, Papa?" Robert crossed his arms, a crumpled document still firmly in his grasp.

His father pursed his lips and paused for a long moment, as if weighing his words. "Your wife does not know the extent to which the estate is in danger. She does not know precisely how her dowry will be used. And she will not be involved in the legal proceedings today or any other day. And until I am no longer able to be involved, neither will you."

It was like a swift kick to the stomach. Robert sat backward on the bed and looked dazedly over the crumpled document in his hand one more, silently processing his father's words. "—Papa, you told me that Cora had come to London so that she might find a title. You told me that it what she wanted—" He stood, beginning to pace the room. "Are you telling me that my wife does not know our marriage stands primarily because we needed her money?"

"Lower your voice," his father hissed.

"I will not lower my voice," Robert replied, still pacing, though his voice had grown slightly ragged. "Papa—we cannot…I cannot do this. I will not deceive her."

His father regarded him harshly and approached until there were but a few inches between them. Speaking softly, in a tone that rather disturbed him, he replied, "You already have, Robert. You married that girl and took her to bed. She is your wife, no matter what silly sense of morality seems to have gripped you. If you unburden yourself to her now, your life will be very unhappy, son—"

"And what of Cora?" Robert interrupted. "What about her happiness? Will she be happy to learn that her idiot of a husband was tricked by his own parents? That her money will likely go to rebuilding the estate before she ever sees a penny of it?"

"She has no right to be unhappy, Robert. You will treat her well and she now holds a higher position than most women in London society. Do not make things difficult; it will only hurt her and leave you to clean up the mess. Do you understand?"

Robert looked between his father and the crumpled documents once more, frowning as he pursed his lips, attempting to refrain from shouting. "Yes," he answered, brushing past his father and out the door, "I understand."


	3. Berths and Business

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind reviews and interest in the story! _

* * *

Robert stared out the window of his train compartment, looking distractedly at the rain that pattered against the glass. It had been raining for nearly two days, since they left in station in Paris, really, though it didn't much matter as they were stuck on the train until tomorrow.

Tomorrow they would reach Vevey, and—what seemed a most unfortunate prospect as of late—disembark the train and spend their days honeymooning. Their nights, too, he supposed.

A week ago the prospect would have thrilled him. He and Cora were free from the prying eyes of the staff and their family; they could come and go as they pleased, do whatever they wanted and enjoy nearly a month of quiet, unguarded time spent together.

But now it was wrong—it was all so very wrong. He almost wished that his father had simply lied, gone on with the farce and allowed him his blissful ignorance. He knew it was an immature wish; he did, after all, have a responsibility to his wife. But it would have been much easier for the two of them if they could have just gone on a while longer believing everything was perfectly alright.

And he now found himself saddled with the task of explaining it all to her, something that seemed impossible at best and life shattering at worst. He could not tell her. Not yet, at least. He sighed audibly with the knowledge that his father was indeed correct: Cora would hate him forever if he told her now, before she even had a chance to truly know him.

Robert's melancholic musings, though, were interrupted by a soft, feminine cough from behind him. And, turning to meet the tentative smile of his wife, Robert stood from his perch and smiled in greeting, hoping his mood was not entirely evident. He had been so deep in thought he'd not even heard her enter.

"The door was open," Cora ventured, stepping into the small compartment.

Robert shook his head, waving in the direction of the entrance with a blasé shrug. "Yes, I always forget to lock it. Not so good for robbers, I suppose. But it does have its apparent advantages—" he replied, smiling earnestly at her, obviously pleased with her arrival.

Cora blushed, a reaction that pleased him, and shifted on her feet. "Might you have some writing paper? I've used all mine."

"Already?" Robert asked, though quickly following up with, "yes, of course you may have some," as he took in her uncertain expression at his joke.

He removed a few sheets from the stack on the small desk compartment and offered them to her, a gesture which brought back her smile and blush, along with a murmured, "thank you."

She turned on her heels, ostensibly to return to her own compartment, but then apparently thought better of it and paused, turning back around slowly. "—Robert, I wonder. I—I wonder if I might ask you something?"

He nodded, pulling out the desk chair to offer to her as he sat on the small bed a few paces away. "Of course you may."

Cora sat, though looked rather uncomfortable doing so, and cleared her throat before looking up to meet his curious gaze. "I wondered if I might have upset you in some way."

He waited for her to continue, but she seemed frozen in thought, now staring intently at the writing paper in her hands. "Cora?" He held his tongue until she looked back up. "You haven't upset me, not at all. What gave you that notion?"

Again, she blushed.

Again, he was utterly enchanted by her.

Cora cleared her throat again. "I—well, we have not spent very much time together since we left Downton," she managed, though her slow speech suggested she chose her words very carefully. "I know you must be busy, though," she amended, moving to stand.

Robert stood, out of instinct, and caught her hand, hoping to assuage her fear. "I apologize," he offered immediately, gently releasing her hand when she looked surprised at the contact. "I apologize if I have been poor company. I thought you might like time during the days for letter writing and such, since I monopolized your last two evenings with dinner," he explained.

Cora shifted on her feet again, looking terribly uncomfortable.

"Cora? What is it—" Robert began, but she cut him off, speaking as though she had but one breath to let it all out.

"—It isn't the dinners, Robert. Those have all been lovely. But then—then after dinner, you never seem to want to…" she trailed off, yet again averting her gaze. "…to, well, do anything _after_ dinner," she finished clumsily.

Robert blinked in confusion before realizing to what she was referring. Then, with a blush that matched his wife's, he pursed his lips and ran a hand absently through his hair, for he suddenly felt rather warm indeed.

"The compartments are terribly small," he replied, after a long pause.

"Yes, I suppose they are," Cora agreed.

"I didn't think you'd want…" this time he trailed off, frowning at the floor.

But then, to his surprise, Cora interrupted the silence. "I thought we had fun," she ventured, blushing a deeper red than the rug beneath their feet.

Robert looked up at her incredulously, for both the boldness of her admission and the content. "Yes, I suppose we did," he murmured in reply. Then, perhaps in an attempt to assuage his own guilt, he asked quietly, "I didn't hurt you?"

Cora shook her head. "Not really, no."

He smiled a little at that and reached to take her hand again. "I'm glad."

"Me too," Cora replied, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. And then, the boldness of her earlier statement apparently still lingering, added, "so I see no reason why we cannot continue the fun. Tonight, perhaps?"

Robert blanched, but tried desperately to maintain a passive, if not happy, expression. "Yes, alright." He nodded, albeit slowly, having no real reason to deny her outright.

Cora grinned and leaned forward to kiss his cheek, hugging the stack of paper she'd borrowed close to her chest. "I'll see you this evening, Robert."

He nodded, though she was already gone through the door, and wondered fleetingly if there were any way to extract himself from what was rapidly becoming his worst nightmare.

* * *

Cora smiled into the looking glass as her maid completed the last steps of her intricate hairstyle. She wanted to look perfect at dinner, so perfect that Robert could not possibly imagine spending the night without her.

She was not entirely sure that something was out of order, but she could not seem to shake the sinking feeling that it was. Their wedding night had been a bit awkward, but somehow still lovely. Robert had been terribly gentle with her and when she'd fallen asleep in his arms afterward, nothing in the world could have felt better.

But now it had been several days. Days of traveling, yes, but days and nights all the same. Did he suddenly think her uninteresting or plain? Cora frowned at the thought, no matter how silly it seemed, and dismissed her maid soon after.

Robert was usually right on time when he arrived to collect her for dinner. Tonight, though, it was already a quarter of an hour past their agreed upon time. Cora sat waiting on the small compartment berth and hugged her arms around her middle, staring intently at the door. For a terrible moment she wondered if he wouldn't come at all; she had, after all, been quite forward with him. Perhaps he didn't like that. Perhaps he didn't like her.

She tried to shake herself, realizing how utterly desperate she sounded. The business of marriage was getting to her head, she feared. Of course Robert still liked her; better than that, he loved her—of course he did.

She breathed in and out, steadying her heartbeat and racing mind.

He loved her. It would all be fine. It already was.

If she were completely honest with herself, Cora knew that she and Robert were quite different people. And she knew, though she very seldom allowed herself to think about it, that Robert's affection for her was different than what she felt for him. She had only known Robert for eight weeks when he proposed; and they'd been courting for only four of those weeks.

Her mother always told her that men took longer to express their feelings, so it did not surprise her when Robert's proposal was preceded by _"I think very highly of you," _and _"you are the loveliest woman I have ever seen," _rather than serious declarations of love; it had to have been nerve wracking for him, and she understood that the English did not verbalize feelings like their American counterparts. At the time, in a fleeting moment, perhaps it had bothered her. But it was Robert's own mother who had pulled her aside the night after his proposal and pressed her hand with assurances, promising that, _"he will take care of you. Robert will do anything for those he loves." _

And so it was easy to push it to the back of her mind, despite her mother's warnings and endlessly negative reminders that he would never, could never, love her.

She was about to freshen her perfume when a soft knock at her door caused her nerves to fly about once more. Her husband tentatively opened the door just as she began to reply, "yes, come in—"

"—Oh, I'm sorry," Robert replied, closing the door behind him.

Cora smiled and shrugged. "I suppose I'm no better at locking doors than you are."

Robert frowned momentarily and then chuckled, realizing her joke. "Yes, we're quite a pair," he agreed, offering her his arm.

"Thank you." Cora slid her gloved hand around his arm and took a step closer, picking up on the scent of his cologne.

"You look very beautiful," Robert said conversationally, as they exited her train compartment and wandered down the hall toward the dining car.

His words never failed to make her blush, something that he rather seemed to enjoy, and he smiled indulgently when she said nothing, only smirked, in reply.

The dining car was nearly full by the time they arrived, though their reserved table, one of the very best, was waiting. The room was alight with chatter and the sound of a piano as waiters brushed by, delivering drinks and solemnly taking orders from guests wearing furs, diamonds, and various other finery.

Usually it was the maître d' who held out her chair, but on this particular evening, Robert stepped ahead of the young man and pulled her chair away from the table, offering her the seat, without a word.

This earned him another blush.

He endeavored—as best as he possibly could—to behave in a gentlemanly manner throughout their dinner. He had been impossibly nervous when he arrived to pick Cora up and escort her to dinner. She had, of course, looked utterly perfect, and it helped his cause little to sit so close to his beautiful wife and stare into her sparkling blue eyes.

He had decided before their meal that he could not take advantage of Cora, no matter how much he might be tempted. She had all but asked him to…well, if he really considered her words, she _did _ask him about their nights together. The thought of her finding him a disappointment in that regard was too embarrassing for words; but how could he possibly prove himself a good husband if she found out later that all along, as he shared her bed, he was also lying to her?

And so by the time their dessert arrived, Robert was certain that his decision was the right one. However, when Cora's fingers boldly skirted across the table and touched his hand, drawing lazy circles—as if it were an entirely natural thing to do—as they spoke, he felt his resolve begin to melt away.

He began to wonder, with more than slight suspicion, if she knew how she affected him. For, it was Cora who linked her arm through his before they'd even left the dining car, and it was Cora—his _wife_—whose shawl seemed to slip lower and lower down her back as they approached her door.

"Cora—" Robert cleared his throat, already feeling his face flame with embarrassment, when she interrupted him quite abruptly.

Leaning up to kiss his cheek, she smiled a brilliant, mischievous, smile, and replied, "I'll wait for you inside," before disappearing behind her door and leaving her stunned husband in the hall.

* * *

Robert's valet had arrived and helped him change in what seemed an alarmingly short amount of time. Perhaps they were all conspiring against them, he thought bitterly as he paced about his room.

He supposed he could simply go to bed, feign sleep, and beg her forgiveness in the morning. But he had promised her. Well, not promised _explicitly, _but she had looked into his eyes and asked this of him; how could he just pretend that it was so unimportant that sleep had claimed him before she could? And, worse than that, it would likely mean Cora standing outside his door knocking, checking to see if he was coming or not. The thought of his wife standing in the hallway in her nightdress all alone made him more nervous than he cared to admit. She was, after all, his to protect.

No, he could not take the coward's way out. He might be a deceitful husband, though he'd never set out to be, but he was not a cad. He would not make his wife seek him out again. He simply needed to explain the situation to her.

Maybe she would understand.

It would, very likely, at least, save him from any sort of martial obligations for the night after she understood the extent of their situation.

And so he tied his robe and somehow made his way to her door on shaky legs, steeling himself with a deep breath when she bid him enter.

"Hello, darling," came her soft voice from across the room. Cora was already reclined on her berth, several candles flickering around the room. She wore a white nightdress that was quite similar to the one she'd worn on their wedding night, and her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and back in a most alluring fashion.

Robert entered the room more fully and closed the door behind him, swallowing a lump in his throat just as the train lurched back and forth ever so slightly. "Cora—" he paused, covering his mouth with one hand.

He was not sure if this was some sort of torture, some penance for being a naughty child, for stealing one too many of Rosamund's dolls and beheading them, or for taking candies from the shop in Ripon without permission, but he would rather have been executed on the spot than be forced to stand so close to his beautiful wife and not have her.

He felt lightheaded, beads of sweat coursing down his back and dampening his nightshirt as he took an unsteady step toward her. "Cora, I—"

"Robert?" Her smile dimmed ever so slightly and she cocked her head playfully in question.

He crossed the room in two more steps and managed to sit at the edge of her small bed, running both hands over his forehead and hair before turning to his wife, who was now sitting up and looking at him curiously.

And though he wished he were calmer under pressure, Robert simply did not have it in him. He began to babble, "Cora, I am so sorry—I really am so, so very sorry…I feel…I—I feel quite ill," he muttered, his voice low with embarrassment.

If she suspected he was lying, or doubted him at all, her face did not show it. And, only making him feel guiltier than he already did, Cora jumped into action, removing herself from the bed and rushing across the room for water, then sitting beside him as she watched him take small sips. Her fingers ran through his hair and she murmured quiet endearments to him as he caught his breath.

"Come, lay down," Cora suggested after a few silent moments. Robert had spent much of the time since he entered her room staring down at his bed shoes, but when he looked up her expression was one of utter love and concern. She guided him to the head of the berth and helped him slip beneath the bedclothes, then returned a moment later with a dampened cloth that she pressed to his brow as she slipped into bed beside him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, though it felt hollow and filled him with shame.

"Don't apologize, Robert," Cora replied, nestling herself tentatively beside him as she ran a hand up and down his arm. He was faced away from her, laying on his side, but he felt her press her lips to his neck and whispered, "I'll take good care of you; I promise," before letting her hand rest on his hip.

He knew she wasn't asleep because her hand continued to make gentle passes over his arm and the side of his leg for some time, and Cora alternated her touches with applying her lips to his neck, as if checking his temperature every so often. It would undoubtedly have aroused him, had he not been consumed by guilt. And so when he could take it no longer, he reverted to a form of his original half-baked plan, and feigned sleep, snoring very quietly so that she might think him in a deep slumber. Anything to halt her careful watch over him; he knew that he did not deserve it.

And if he hadn't felt truly ill before, her words and gentle ministrations certainly conspired to incite a nauseous feeling within him as he lay beside her, silently deceiving her yet again. Tomorrow they would arrive in Switzerland and there would be little chance for him to hide away from her. They were on their honeymoon, for God's sake. He needed some sort of plan, a better plan than whatever he was currently doing.

Tomorrow morning, that would be the first order of business.


	4. The Honorable Thing

The carriage pulled to a deliberate, if not rough, stop outside the chateau just after midday. He and Cora had arrived in Vevey an hour or so earlier and were let off the train into the midst of one of the hottest days of the year. Thankfully their carriage had been prompt and the ride to their destination, just outside the city perimeter, was without issue.

Helping his wife down from the carriage steps, Robert instructed the driver to bring their cases round the back when the second carriage that carried their servants arrived. Turning his attention to his wife, then, he offered her a hand and they took the few steps to the entryway together.

"It's rather grander than I expected," Robert said conversationally, nodding at the two servants who stood to greet them as he and Cora passed by and wandered into the main hall.

Cora only smirked and looked up at him, rolling her eyes playfully. "I know my parents insisted on planning this all but did you really expect some ramshackle cottage by the sea?"

Robert immediately shook his head, embarrassed. "No, no of course not. I didn't mean—"

She rolled her eyes again. "I was only teasing, Robert."

In truth, the chateau was far more lavish than he had been expecting. Apparently some of Isidore Levinson's business friends had bought up the estate a year or two earlier and were using it as a 'vacation home', whatever that meant. His mother had explained that it was a sort of holiday home now, but he still did not expect to be dropped off at the entrance to an elaborate stone castle sitting on the edge of Lake Geneva.

"Well, in any case it was kind of them to arrange it. I think this may actually be larger than Downton," he replied, looking up at the vaulted ceilings and large marble staircase. It was absolutely not the gaudy, newly built monstrosity he had expected.

Cora smiled, pleased that he seemed so impressed. She had been more than slightly concerned when her mother practically foisted the entire trip upon them, absolutely refusing to listen when Lady Grantham suggested a more traditional trip to Paris or Rome. But all her worries appeared to be for naught, as the chateau was quite lovely, and—even more exciting a prospect—quite secluded.

Unfortunately it began to grow more apparent that the house was perhaps too secluded as the hours went by; parting just after their arrival to freshen themselves and oversee any unpacking, Cora had not seen her husband for much of the day. She supposed that was the nature of upper class marriage. And, she did not need to spend the entirety of her days with Robert (though it was not altogether an unwelcome prospect). But she found herself growing increasingly anxious as well, for it also seemed more apparent that he was deliberately avoiding her.

He did not appear in the main dining room for afternoon tea, nor was he in his room when Cora knocked, hoping to see him for a bit before dinner. So by the time she herself was ready for their evening meal, she was rather on edge—the prospect of seeing her husband both thrilling and concerning in equal parts. He could not skip dinner, after all. And so she was guaranteed several hours with him all to herself, minute upon minute to study him and gaze at him and speak with him.

Sure enough, he knocked on her door only a moment after her maid left, and guided her confidently, albeit wordlessly, downstairs to the dining room.

The room was quieter than Cora could ever remember a dining room being. Back home in New York her parents were always entertaining. And the sorts of men her father did business were not the silent, stoic type; they were boisterous, calling for more liquor and louder music. Here, though, Cora was not entirely sure whether conversation was frowned upon or not. Her husband's gazed was fixed downward at his plate, and he looked more awkward than he had during their few short meals on the train. Far away, too. He was sitting all the way at the other end of the long wooden table. She supposed it seemed stranger than before because now they were entirely alone, no random train passengers and their various conversations to float around them and keep their guards down. No, here in this grand house and at this large table, it was only she and Robert—and once again she felt like they were stumbling.

The footman had removed himself to retrieve the first course, and the silence of the room was almost suffocating. Apparently no other staff was to help with dinner; it was only the two of them trading awkward glances and a footman to witness the embarrassment of it all. So, Cora cleared her throat and attempted to remedy the situation as best she could.

"I'm quite hungry," she ventured, smiling at her husband.

Robert nodded and offered her a half-smile, shifting in his seat. "I had my tea rather late, so I confess I cannot say the same," he replied.

"Oh, you—you did have tea this afternoon?" Cora hesitated at his confused expression and added, "it's only—I would have been glad to have taken my tea along with you."

He looked down at his plate, and Cora could tell she'd made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he answered after a pause, and looked genuinely contrite. "I hadn't thought to ask."

"It's alright."

"No, no. It isn't. But, I am sorry," Robert repeated, fiddling with his empty wine glass as she once again broke their gaze and looked down at her own empty place setting.

"Robert, I—"

He looked up, ready to listen to whatever she was about to interject with, but the young footman re-entered the room at what seemed the most inopportune moment possible carrying a decanter of white wine. Robert smiled passively as the young man filled his glass but he noticed Cora's expression fall when he approached her with the same decanter.

Curious, Robert refrained from drinking and inquired, "is anything the matter?" just as she held a hand over top of her glass, gesturing for the footman to avoid pouring.

"Yes," Cora sighed. "This is all wrong."

With some alarm, Robert swallowed audibly and dared to ask, "what particularly is wrong?"

She was still frowning. And instead of answering his question, she looked to the footman. "I wrote ahead, I wrote ahead nearly a month ago asking that you all make sure that the house was stocked with a case of Château Margaux especially for dinners."

Robert's ears perked at the mention of his favorite wine, but he remained quiet as Cora looked in question at the footman—who looked equal parts confused and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Miss—Milady."

"Don't be sorry," Cora answered, more snappishly than Robert could ever remember her being, "just go and retrieve the correct bottle."

The young man, apparently now inducted into their club of awkward gazes, looked once more at Cora, and then down at his shoes. "It's just—I'm not allowed to go into the cellars, Milady. And Mr. Wilson has gone down to the village to make produce orders."

Robert watched, waiting to see if Cora might shout at the young man, though he truly doubted it possible. And, he was proved right only a second later when her expression cleared and she seemed to remember herself.

"I apologize for being short with you," Cora amended quietly, looking kindly at the young boy who was likely several years younger than them both. "I should have spoken to Mr. Wilson when I arrived and reminded him of my instructions."

The footman, whose face had reddened considerably at Cora's attention fixed on him, only shook his head. "It won't happen again, Milady, I—"

"No need to apologize," Cora interrupted, standing. "Where is the wine cellar?"

He looked confused. "It's just down the servants' staircase and to the right," he replied, pointing at a door beyond the entrance to the dining room.

"Perfect," Cora answered. Then, turning her attention back to Robert, added, "I'll be back in a few moments."

Robert gaped at his wife, who was already half way across the room by the time his brain saw fit to respond. "Cora, _wait_—" he called, reaching out to grasp her arm just as she moved to pass his seat.

She stopped abruptly and looked down at him, obviously surprised by the contact. "Yes?"

"You cannot just go down to the cellars, Cora. It's not how things are done—"

"—Are you forbidding me, Robert?"

Her quick rebuttal surprised him more than her apparent intention to wander around a dusty cellar for a bottle of wine. She was looking at him intently, though not aggressively, and seemed genuinely curious as to what his reply would be. Shaking his head slowly, he removed his hand from her arm, hoping that he'd not grasped her too firmly. "No, of course not," he answered, standing to meet her gaze. "I would never forbid you to do anything. But I would feel better if you would allow me to escort you."

This time it was Cora who grasped him, looping her hand around the fabric of his upper arm. She smiled at him, and regarded him for a long moment. "I cannot think of anything I would like more," she answered.

* * *

The cellar was indeed dusty and nearly pitch black, save for a few candles that had likely been lit just before dinner. Made entirely of stone, the room was much cooler than the upper floors of the estate, and the clicking of Cora's shoes followed them around the room as they searched for the case of wine Cora insisted _had _to be there.

It was nearly a quarter of an hour into their search when Robert paused to remove one of the candles from its holder affixed to the wall, careful not to drip any wax as he skillfully pulled it free.

"More light might help the search efforts," he explained jovially, still holding Cora's hand firmly. He knew it was likely a silly thing to even think, but the darkness of the room and the isolated house had conspired to make him feel slightly more on edge than he was willing to admit. And he felt it his responsibility, more than anything else, to make sure that no harm came to her, even if that meant preventing her from slipping over a stone in the dimly lit room.

Cora was still scanning the names on the bottles and hummed noncommittally in reply. Robert, though, was far more interested in the way Cora looked in the flickering candlelight and the way her perfume smelled when she was so close, rather than the location of an unaccounted for bottle of wine.

She was lovely—more than lovely—and it was not a fact lost on him. So, he attempted conversation once more. "Château Margaux is actually my favorite wine," Robert said as they turned a corner.

At this, Cora turned around, her expression unreadable to him. "I know that," she replied. "It's why I had a case of it sent here before we left England. It was supposed to be here—it was all supposed to be perfect. I had wanted it to make you happy, and now—" she paused again, removing her hand from his arm and kneeling down in her evening gown to scan a bottom rack.

Robert said nothing for a moment, processing her words. He watched as she sat hunched over, half-covered in dust searching for _his _favorite bottle of wine. He felt like an absolute cad.

"Cora?" He murmured her name and tapped her on the shoulder but she shrugged him off again and continued to read the wine labels aloud.

"Cora—" Again, no reply.

Robert shook his head, cursing himself and the predicament he'd gotten them both into, and knelt down onto the floor until he was eye-level with his wife. "Darling," he said quietly, waiting for a reaction.

He was not long in waiting, for at the use of such an appellation Cora turned around faster than he would have thought possible, blinking at him with wide eyes and her mouth half-open in question. He cleared his throat, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable, and carefully grasped one of her hands—his other still holding the small candle. Carefully he helped her to her feet without explanation but stepped closer to her until they were but inches away.

Turning, he blew out the candle in his hand with a gentle breath and laid it on the adjacent wine barrel. Then, he turned back to his wife who was still regarding him intently, though her features were somewhat muddled in the darker room.

"Cora, you needn't have gone through such trouble for me," he began. When she moved to protest, he surprised himself, not to mention his wife, by bringing one finger up to her lips. "Please, let me finish?" Cora nodded, still grasping his hand tightly. "You are my wife and I would have you happy too," he continued, bringing the finger that had been at her lips to stroke her cheek. "You already make me quite happy and I wouldn't have you do anything other than be yourself. I don't need the wine," he continued, brushing some errant dust from the bodice of her gown, "I only need you. Alright?"

Cora nodded very slowly, whispering, "alright," and she was so very close that Robert was nearly certain he could hear the beating of their hearts echoing through the cool, dark cellar in tandem.

"Alright," he replied. And then, before he could think of all the reasons why he should refrain, he closed the gap between them and kissed his wife softly on the lips.

Placing both his hands on each of Cora's cheeks, Robert drew her closer to him and deepened their kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth which prompted a breathy sigh from his wife. Robert felt Cora's hands at his shoulders and the delicate scent of her perfume overwhelmed him; before very long he felt his body begin to react to her closeness and after kissing her once more he regretfully disentangled himself from her arms.

If Cora was displeased by what he thought an abrupt end to their brief romantic interlude, her face most certainly did not show it. And when he offered her his arm once more, leaning close to press his lips to her cheek as he asked, "shall we to dinner, then?" he thought she looked more pleased than she had in quite some time.

* * *

Dinner turned out better than Cora could have ever imagined. After she and Robert returned to the dining room, the young footman came rushing in with a contrite expression, explaining that the case of wine had been in the kitchen all along.

In the absence of the butler, Robert had tasked himself with uncorking the special vintage, and Cora unabashedly admired her husband's strong arms as he effortlessly pulled the cork from the bottle with a grin, filling both their glasses more than might be considered appropriate.

Her mother would likely call her foolish and helplessly romantic, but Cora was certain the brightened mood in the dining room was all thanks to the kiss they shared; she couldn't have loved Robert more for that if she tried. He had been so utterly perfect, holding her close and kissing her soundly. If Cora was honest, and she blushed to even think it, the kiss had been more passionate than the ones they had shared in her bedroom days earlier. There was nothing obligatory about his kiss, nothing that made her feel like some sort of duty was being done. No, it was just the man she loved holding her in his arms.

And now, as though the evening could possibly improve even more, Robert was leading her along the water's edge, Lake Geneva sparkling beside them as they strolled arm in arm at a lazy pace talking of little things and sharing amused gazes.

Robert, for his part, felt considerably better than he had hours before. He wasn't entirely sure what had lifted his mood, but there was little denying that it had been lifted greatly. He did, after all, still have the small matter of telling Cora precisely what their parents had conspired to do. He was not completely deluded; he did not believe that one kiss—no matter how gloriously perfect it had been—would keep her from growing upset, angry even, when he explained the extent of the situation.

But he also could not deny how very badly he wanted to please her. Perhaps in the same way that she wanted to please him. He wasn't sure, really, but as he lead his wife along the lake for an after dinner stroll, he felt more content than he had in days.

"Are you cold?" Robert noticed she'd begun shivering a few paces back.

Cora shook her head, "no, no I'm fine."

In truth, she was freezing. The wind had rather picked up and being so close to the water was no help. But she was not about to turn back now, not when she was so close to her husband and they were blissfully alone. She needed him to know how happy she was, how much she loved him. And, an afterthought that warmed her considerably, how much she wanted him _close _to her. She was startled from thought, though, when Robert chuckled doubtfully in reply and removed his dress coat, draping it over her shoulders.

"You're shivering," he commented. "And I would rather like to continue walking with you, so you may as well keep the jacket," he added with a mischievous grin.

Cora smiled and laughed lightly in reply. "Well, I was never one to turn down a chivalrous gesture."

Robert only smiled again and pulled her a bit closer. The wind, strangely, seemed to disappear entirely.

They walked a few steps more before reaching a dock near the edge of the property, a small wooden bench settled just beside it.

"Shall we sit?" Robert asked as he guided them close. It was a beautifully clear night and they could see a handful of sailboats scattered a distance away from the house floating about on the moonlight waters.

Cora nodded her consent and sat beside her husband, leaving what she hoped he deemed a respectable distance between them. Still shivering, though, she wished almost instantly that she'd been forward enough to sit right beside him.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, though Cora could tell her husband was thinking, as his brow was furrowed in the way it always was when he was about to broach some subject he deemed serious.

And, sure enough his tentative voice broke the silence.

"Cora, I just want you to know that I meant what I said earlier," he explained quickly, as though the words were nervous in coming. "I only want you to be happy."

Cora regarded her husband, having turned to look at him as he spoke. It didn't often occur to her, but looking at him beside her she was struck with the realization of how terribly young they both were. He looked so innocent, and so terribly gentle; she could not imagine him making her anything but happy. And so she took his hands into hers, answering, "I know," as she returned his bold move from earlier in the evening and leaned in to kiss him.

It was far more chaste than the kisses they shared in the wine cellar, but somehow, still, it was enough. And so, she kissed him once more, ever so softly, and then moved close until she was right beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm came up to wrap around her, as though it was a practiced tradition, and his fingers made lazy passes up and down her arm.

It was perhaps five minutes more before Cora Crawley was fast asleep.

Unfortunately for Robert, however, for as beautiful as his wife looked as she slept, her warm weight beside him also prompted several problems that needed solving. If he were to wake Cora, the next step would undoubtedly be for the two of them to go inside. And he had not forgotten where they were. It was still their honeymoon, after all, and he was expected to perform the duties ascribed to him. But he still had not told her the truth of it all, and so he felt no right to share her bed; it would not be the honorable thing for him to do, to make her satisfy his desires and then break her heart.

But, oh, how he wanted her. Even now, trying to decide upon the most honorable thing, he still wanted desperately to take her to bed, to feel her lips on his and the softness of her skin. Before Cora he had never been with a woman in that way and now it was all he could think of when he closed his eyes. They had only been together once and that was apparently all that was needed to torture him endlessly.

It seemed the more time he spent beside his wife, the more elaborate his imaginings became. It would not be fair, though. It would not be fair to Cora. And looking down at her sleeping form, running his fingers over her dark hair, all he wanted was to make sure that nothing and no one ever hurt her.

And so Robert did what he hoped the honorable thing to do was. Carefully, as gently as he could manage, Robert extricated himself from Cora's grasp and swooped her into his arms in one fluid movement. She was rather light, he realized as he walked back toward the house, and he wondered if he would ever have the chance to hold her this way again.

When they reached the house the hall was still dimly lit by several candles and the shock of light caused Cora to crinkle her nose in displeasure, though she was obviously still quite asleep. Thankfully, Robert was able to make it to her bedroom without issue, and placed her atop the soft mattress without disturbing her. Looking down at her, Robert again felt the oddest urge to hold her close, to protect her—though from what he had no idea.

He knew their servants would likely gossip come morning if he did not ring. But it seemed a silly thing to wake her, only so she could wait for someone to dress her for sleep. And, even odder, Robert found that he did not care what they might say.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, Robert removed his shoes, waistcoat, and braces, and settled onto the bed beside his wife. She murmured something unintelligible in her sleep and clutched at her pillow a bit tighter. She looked so beautiful he nearly left the candles lit just so he could look at her before allowing sleep to claim him too. But he settled for pressing a kiss to her forehead before blowing the two remaining candles out in quick succession.

Then, for more reasons that he could not possibly explain, Robert shifted until he was right beside his wife and wrapped an arm around her, settling his head into the curve of her shoulder and breathing in deeply.

She murmured something that sounded like his name, though perhaps he only wanted it to be his name so badly that he imagined it, and seemed to fall into a deeper sleep. Robert kissed her neck once more and tightened his grip round her ever so slightly, the feel of her beside him relaxing him more than he imagined possible.

And not five minutes later, Robert Crawley was fast asleep too.


	5. Singularity

Cora awoke to the feeling of heaviness against her chest.

Blinking her eyes open in sleepy bewilderment, she very quickly ascertained the culprit, however. Shifting ever so slightly, so as not to wake him, Cora studied her husband curiously, taking in the peaceful sleeping form beside her—well, rather, the sleeping form atop her.

Robert's arms were entangled round her waist and his head was pressed up against her chest. His breath came in long, rhythmic sighs and made the bare skin at the base of her neck tingle at the contact. One of his legs had managed to find its way between hers and somehow he had effectively pinned her to the bed, encasing her completely in his embrace.

The heaviness that had woken her, though, was of very little concern to Cora now. Bringing one hand up, she stroked the messy curls that framed Robert's face, feeling them warm from slumber. She continued in this manner for several blissful moments, relishing in the rare opportunity to be close to her husband with absolutely no one—not even him—to watch her. In some strange way, she felt closer to him than she ever had; she felt a sense of superiority, even, that she was the only person in the entire world that was allowed to see him in this way. He was not the dashing gentleman that made ladies blush on the ballroom floor, nor was he the dutiful future earl who had tenants to deal with and paperwork to complete.

He was simply her husband, fast asleep beside her.

Her husband was not, however, immune to being woken. And when Cora's fingers found themselves tangled in a particularly knotted thatch of hair, he woke with a frown before she could remove them, blinking up at her as if confused to have been found so close to her.

"I'm so sorry," Cora murmured, finally extracting the trapped fingers from his dark locks. "I—I didn't mean to wake you; I shouldn't have been—"

Robert interrupted her, reaching up to grasp the offending hand, pressing a kiss to her palm and offering her a sheepish grin in reply. "If anyone should apologize, it is certainly me," he explained, moving gently away from her. "I didn't mean to fall asleep in here. I hope I did not disturb you."

Though his statement was not intoned in question, Cora could see the uncertainty in his eyes. And so, laying back down against her pillow and turning until she faced him more completely, she smiled and shook her head. "I sleep more easily when you're here," Cora admitted after a quiet pause.

Robert looked rather surprised at her admission but only smiled and murmured, "well, I'm glad of that."

Cora leaned even closer to her husband, then, hoping desperately that he might be so bold as to kiss her. She had not quite realized the angle her body was positioned in, though, and so when she moved to close the gap between them, she felt the pinch of her corset rather than the gentle embrace of her husband—who then looked utterly concerned at the yelp that escaped her.

"Cora—?"

Robert sat up immediately, fear painted clearly across his expression.

"I'm fine," she assured him, sitting back up until she felt the offending garment loosen."

"But, but you—"

"My corset," she explained, reddening slightly.

Robert's expression remained confused for a beat before clearing, whispering, "ah," in understanding. "Are you alright now?"

Cora nodded, but reddened considerably when she looked back to him. "Might you help me remove it?" When he looked surprised, she explained, "I don't want my maid gossiping that I spent the night in my evening clothes."

"Right, of course," Robert agreed. "What do I have to do?"

Cora guided him easily through the motions of unbuttoning the delicate evening dress and unbinding the corset, which proved an easier task than he would have guessed. He tried to avert his eyes when Cora was left in just a shift, and helpfully offered to retrieve a nightdress from the wardrobe, but he could not help peeking—for just a moment—at her slight form in the reflection of the mirror. She caught him looking almost immediately, of course, which earned him a blush that beat Cora's by far. But instead of reproaching him she only grinned and rolled her eyes playfully, gesturing toward the wardrobe and thanking him more than was necessary when he returned with a plain cotton nightdress a moment later.

By the time Cora's maid arrived with breakfast a short while later, they were both quite properly dressed in their respective nightwear. It was not for the first time on their trip that Robert questioned the necessity of all the rules society placed upon them. After all, what did it really matter how he and Cora spent their nights? He wondered if perhaps they might be allowed to make some rules of their own, should they find occasion for it.

Breakfast was passed in a companionable quiet, though they did chat between sips of tea and bites of toast and jam. It was quiet in the easiest way imaginable, and Robert never felt as though their conversation was lacking. If anything, it seemed to suit them perfectly in that moment in time.

However by the time their toast was eaten and the tea gone cold, Robert noticed that Cora still winced in pain each time she made any sort of real movement. He supposed sleeping in a corset was far more pain-inducing than sleeping in a dinner jacket, and silently cursed himself for not waking her up to change before falling asleep beside her.

"Cora, are you quite alright?" he asked for what seemed the millionth time as she moved to place her empty tea cup on the tray.

This earned him another amused eye-roll. "Yes, perfectly well," she answered. "If anything, just a bit sore, and that will pass."

Robert frowned. He hated thinking himself the cause of her pain. But then, looking out the window just beyond where Cora sat, an idea—a rather impulsive one—struck him. "What if we went for a swim?" he queried.

Cora half-shrugged, turning to look out the window. "Well, it is a beautiful day. Do you know how to swim, Robert?" She looked innocently at him, genuinely curious.

"Of course I do," he blurted, straightening up. "Don't you?"

"Yes, of course. I swam in the ocean every summer in Newport," Cora replied, smiling wistfully.

"Well, that settles it, then. And, anyway, it'll be good for your sore back." Robert stood, placing his own teacup onto the tray, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his wife's forehead. "I'll meet you downstairs in, say, half an hour?"

Cora only nodded, furrowing her brow curiously at him. "Yes, alright. I'll see you then." Her expression cleared at his bright smile and she watched him disappear behind the dressing room door.

She'd no idea what had gotten into him that morning, but she was not about to question it.

* * *

A half-hour came and passed, leaving Robert waiting outside on the bank of the lake with Cora nowhere in sight. Her maid had come down whilst he was still inside had and explained that she would meet him outside, but it was already approaching an hour since he'd left her and he was growing concerned.

Deciding to swim just in the shallowest water to pass the time, Robert waded into the chilly water and quickly submerged himself, the shock of the temperature soon fading away. He swam about for several minutes and nearly forgot that he was waiting for his wife.

That is until he saw Cora exit the house and come walking—nearly skipping—toward the water, wrapped in her dressing gown. He waved to her and began to swim back toward the shore, but she held out a hand, indicating that he should stay.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she called out, as she reached the water's edge. "I realized that my maid did not pack my bathing costume."

"Oh, drat." Robert replied, swimming back toward her anyway. "Shall we find something else to do?"

Cora shook her head and, without preamble, dropped her dressing gown to reveal the loose chemise she wore beneath. "I improvised."

Before she could take any further steps, Robert nearly shouted "Cora—" and swam until he reached the bank of the lake, quickly walking until he stood before her.

"Yes?"

He pursed his lips, as though wishing to choose his words carefully. "You—you cannot swim in that."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's longer than your bathing costume," she retorted, moving past him and unceremoniously entering the water. It was only up to her knees, but very quickly she dunked under the water and re-emerged completely wet. The water was cold—colder than Cora was used to—and she tried not to focus on the fact that her chemise had become entirely see-through upon its submersion. It had taken her nearly an hour to gather the courage to exit the house wearing so little, and she had tried not to let Robert know how it unnerved her. She felt she'd been successful in that, perhaps even more successful than she could have imagined, for his gaze on her body was rather unrelenting.

Robert tried not to gawk at the way the shift clung to her pale skin, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. He could see the outline of her breasts, and where the fabric stuck to her stomach. She looked beautiful, of course, but she always did. This was somehow different—he wanted her, desperately, and found her more alluring than he would have thought possible.

She only grinned at his obviously appraising gaze and nodded toward the deeper water. "Are you coming, then?"

He felt himself nod, dumbly, and before he knew quite what he was doing, he ran right towards his wife, swooping her into his arms and spinning them both round in a circle. Cora laughed unguardedly and clung tightly to his arms, a feeling he relished. It made him feel strong, and as though she needed him.

When he set her back down in the shallow water, they were both dripping wet and the cool breeze that happened to pass did little to warm them. In fact, judging by the _change _in Cora's appearance, he gathered that she was rather cold indeed.

And so he did what seemed the most logical thing.

Wrapping his arms around her, Robert let the water lap at their legs as he leaned down and kissed his wife soundly, secretly thrilled by the fact that she seemed neither surprised nor hesitant to meet his advances. Cora reached her hands up and framed his face with her palms, stroking gently as she kissed his lips once, twice, and then a third time in tantalizingly slow succession.

She pressed a thumb to his lip and grinned. "You're cold," she murmured, and then kissed him again, her soft lips rubbing against his and the feel of her tongue sliding experimentally over his own nearly causing his knees to buckle.

"Not when I'm in your arms," he replied, whispering in her ear.

She shivered, and Robert wondered if perhaps it had not been entirely because of the cool water.

But now was not the time for questions. He could feel the wetness of her shift pressed against his belly and was only slightly ashamed to realize that his body had begun to respond in a more pronounced way. He briefly considered suggesting they move their afternoon's activities to where it was warm, and where several pieces of comfortable furniture awaited them, but even in a haze of lust Robert could see the way Cora had lit up when she looked past him at the water, her gaze alight with mirth and excitement. So he reluctantly removed his arms from around her waist after another moment—it was the gentlemanly thing to do, after all, to make sure she was quite warmed—and soon they found themselves swimming rather far out.

They swam about and enjoyed the cool water for some time, pointing out various sail boats and such as they passed, and Cora was quite impressed by Robert's swimming prowess. She had not expected her husband to be an adept swimmer and hoped that someday she might be able to take him swimming in Newport.

And he'd been rather playful with her for much of their little outing. Splashing her, and then repenting with a quick kiss, or swimming close enough to wrap his arms around her had made the time pass faster than she thought possible. She felt so carefree, and for the first time in quite a while, as though she and Robert were no more than she and Robert.

Cora was even more impressed, though, by his gentlemanly regard for her. For after nearly an hour spent in the water, he swam up to her and commented on how chilly she looked, suggesting they go inside. Whether he was acting entirely as a concerned husband or, she had not, in fact, mistook the look in his eye for a mischievous sort of lust, was neither here nor there. She only wanted to spend more time with him. And it had taken a fair amount of convincing on his part, but once he promised her that they could take their tea in the library together, she acquiesced to his expert opinion.

And by the time they neared the shore, Cora was quite certain that they had made the right decision. She felt gooseflesh all up and down her arms and was terribly grateful when she spied the footman from the previous night's dinner standing at the edge of the water with what looked like an armful of fluffy towels. She supposed Robert did not notice, for he did not comment on the young man's presence, but little did Cora know that he was near fuming by the time they reached water shallow enough to walk in.

Robert had noticed the young man from quite far away, actually. At first he'd felt relief at the thought of a warm towel and someone that he could instruct to ready their tea.

And then he remembered what his wife was wearing.

Suddenly towels were of little consequence, and images of the same young footman blushing under Cora's gaze or sneaking glances at his wife were at the forefront of his mind.

And when the young man greeted them upon their exit from the water, and he had the gall to offer Cora a hand before so much as offering her a towel, Robert nearly knocked him right off his feet.

Grasping Cora's hand away from the man roughly, he answered, "I will look after my wife, thank you," through gritted teeth.

The young man quickly remembered himself and replied, "of course, Milord," before offering Robert the towels and scampering off back toward the house.

Cora looked bewildered, and vaguely concerned, but she accepted the towel without a word, looking up at Robert with pursed lips as he wrapped it round her shoulders.

He said nothing, too irritated and embarrassed by his behavior to speak just yet, and was silent as they walked back to the house. He did not release her hand, though, until they were inside and at the top of the main staircase.

"I'll see you in the library for tea, then," he murmured—attempting to soften his tone considerably—and leaned forward to kiss Cora's cheek before turning on his heels and disappearing behind his dressing room door, leaving his wife still bewildered and standing in the hall.

* * *

By the time Cora bathed and dressed some time had passed, and so when she arrived in the library for tea she'd nearly forgotten Robert's little outburst. She was quickly reminded of it, though, when she entered the room to find him pacing by the fire, looking entirely too pensive for her liking.

A tray full of various tea paraphernalia sat on the ottoman nearest to the fire, though it looked untouched.

"All fresh after our swim?" Cora ventured, walking toward her husband with slight trepidation.

He turned around, having not heard her enter, and looked rather abashed. "Yes," he said simply. Then, turning his gaze away from her, added, "tea?"

Cora nodded and took a seat near the fire, relishing in the heat that emanated from within. She accepted the delicate teacup gratefully, though was rather surprised when Robert poured his own cup and sat right beside her.

She'd not dealt with very many of Robert's bad moods. And they had never seemed truly directed at her, so she was unsure of how to proceed. She was quite certain that he was not a violent man; in fact, he was one of the gentlest young men she'd ever known. He had raised his voice in her presence a few times but always seemed embarrassed by such outbursts. When a few of his friends from university had gotten rather drunk and raucous at the wedding, he murmured to her that he was sorry, and that their ramblings "weren't fit for a lady's ear." He'd always made her feel safe, and as though he'd vanquish anything that attempted to hurt her.

But perhaps she had upset him somehow.

He hadn't liked her swimming in her chemise; she knew that. But she had also been sure that she had charmed him out of that particular worry. Perhaps not. She began to blush at the memories of the way she'd acted in the water, the way she clung to him, and kissed him for all the world to see. Robert had never kissed her when there was company; he'd even seemed remiss to hold her hand if his parents or sister were in the room. She'd always thought it was because he wanted to save her from a disapproving look, but what if it was because it made him uncomfortable? What if what they'd done had made him uncomfortable? Did her think her too forward? Her head began to ache at the sheer volume of questions that suddenly filled it. Mixed with the dread—and shame—that she'd perhaps angered him with her forwardness, she felt an uncomfortable pang in her stomach.

Perhaps she needed to apologize.

She was, after all, a viscountess now. Her behavior needed to reflect that. As she turned the thoughts over and over, she grew increasingly embarrassed by her carelessness, and at the realization that by proxy she had embarrassed Robert.

She was nearly sick at the thought of it by the time his quiet voice interrupted her with a simultaneous tap on her shoulder.

"Cora?" He looked at her in question, his brow furrowed.

"Yes?"

"I—I said that I wanted to apologize," he repeated, though she'd obviously not been listening closely enough to hear his first statement.

She looked at him blankly. "Whatever for, Robert?"

"For my behavior earlier, at the lake," he answered, as though it were obvious.

"Your behavior?"

"Yes, I never should have been rough with you. But I didn't mean to be, and I'm so very sorry. It's just—" he trailed off, looking down at his shoes like a scolded child.

"Just what?" Cora prompted.

He looked back up at her, slowly, his expression a study in contrition. "I didn't want that man touching you, gawking at you," he explained slowly.

"Man? Robert, he's just a boy, no older than my little brother," Cora laughed.

His expression darkened. "Well, even so. It was inappropriate. You're my wife, and I don't want anyone thinking that they can mistreat you."

"I don't think he was trying to mistreat me, darling," Cora said conversationally. But when she looked up and saw that his expression remained upset, she added, "and I don't think anyone ever would, no so long as I have you to protect me."

Robert reached for her free hand and wound their fingers together, his expression clearing, but still resolute. "I promise I will, Cora. Always." And then, suiting actions to words, he pulled their hands up and kissed the back of her hand, squeezing tightly in confirmation.

Cora, exhaling a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding, decided that there was boldness in her yet, and tucked her legs up under her, leaning entirely closer to her husband than would be considered respectable. Obviously it had not been their more amorous interactions that had upset him—a realization that pleased her to no end.

The room was quiet, save for the soft popping and crackling of the fire, and Cora remained impossibly still, her lips but a breath away from her husband's. She wouldn't be the one to move, though; she needed it to be him. She needed to know that he wanted her, just as much as she did him. So she stroked his palm with her thumb, and gazed up at him intently, but made no attempt to close the infinitesimal distance between them.

She needn't have worried, though, for before the fire could set about truly warming her from their escapades outside, her husband set about doing just that. With a kiss that made her gasp in surprise, Robert had her in his arms, and then on her back, with astounding speed.

He lay just atop her, careful not to press his weight on her completely, and murmured adoring words into her ear as he peppered kisses to her lips and her throat. She felt the softness of the settee beneath her and was quickly overwhelmed by the intensity of Robert's actions and the gentleness of his words. It was entirely too easy to forget where they were and yield completely to his touch. She wanted him to know how much she loved him, how much she wanted to be close to him. When her mother had spoken vaguely of this aspect of marriage she'd never led on that it could be anything more than duty. But this—_this—_was more encompassing and deliciously overwhelming than could be properly described.

Robert, for his part, had lost his head much earlier in the day. He always strove to act in a way that was befitting his station, but one look at his wife, no matter where she was or what she wore, was all he needed to lose control of his thoughts. And this was no exception. Any fears he had of perhaps trying to lay claim to her in a fit of jealousy, were silenced by the moans she released against his neck and the way she gasped his name, her body spurning him on as she arched up to meet him. She wanted him just as much as he did her. And he felt at his core the most primal urge to hold her close and keep her safe; he wanted, more than anything at all, for her to be happy. She was so much more than he deserved, and he only hoped that she never realized it, that he was always enough for her. The thought that he could make her happier than anyone else in the world aroused him intensely.

And it did not seem to matter quite so much that their motivations were perhaps at cross-purposes. For in the darkened library that afternoon, by the fireplace, Robert and Cora felt a singularity that blew them both away.


End file.
